Topple
by yeaka
Summary: A small collection of unrelated Oliver/Percy drabbles. (OWPW, slash.)
1. -

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Warnings: Slash, mild dub-con, unrelated drabble collection.

A/N: Gift for Marianna_Merlo on my LJ.

* * *

Whenever Percy asks Oliver to study – which isn't very often – Oliver invariably says 'yes.'

Every once in awhile it's simply raining too hard to fly – according to Professor McGonagall, anyway – or there's a test coming up Oliver just can't afford to fail. In these instances Percy is simultaneously the best and worst study partner.

On the one hand, he's perfectly able and happy to answer any of Oliver's questions. He shares detailed, well-organized notes and corrects work, and he cuts through any excuses Oliver might conjure to finish early.

On the other hand, he looks painfully delicious bent over his History of Magic textbook, with his pretty lashes lowered and his pink lips slightly parted. His glasses fall a bit down his nose, giving Oliver the intense urge to either push them back up or rip them off. Percy looks delectable in his glasses – they magnify and accentuate his gorgeous blue eyes, framing his face beautifully. The smattering of freckles just underneath the thick lenses makes Oliver want to lick them. It's a cliché, but Oliver's always wanted to see just how much of Percy's long, lithe body is covered in freckles. He knows Percy's a natural redhead – knows he'll have a similar mess of fiery red hair lower. Oliver knows Percy's legs are long and shapely, like his arms, and Oliver knows that Percy has a scrumptious, pert, tight ass, from the way he bends over in his too-tight hand-me-down clothes. Oliver knows Percy's good with his hands from the way he expertly twirls a quill in his hands, and Oliver knows Percy's great with his mouth, from the way he sucks languidly on the sugar quills Oliver always brings him from Hogsmeade when he's too busy to come. The only thing Oliver doesn't know is what Percy actually _feels_ and _tastes_ like, underneath all that ill-fitting fabric.

When Percy looks up Oliver pretends he's been studying the whole time. He looks back down at his work. Percy asks, "Are you stuck on something?"

Oliver says, "Yes," without thinking.


	2. --

Oliver rounds the corner to see Percy shoved up against the wall, Marcus Flint sneering something into his ear. Percy's face is twisted in pain, eyes scrunched shut, teeth clenched tight, and cheeks flushed. He looks absolutely delicious, but that doesn't give Flint a right to manhandle him.

Oliver storms over so fast his robes fly behind him, and he wrenches a surprised Flint off the wall with a snarled, "Leave him alone."

Flint straights his robes with a disgruntled scowl. Percy lets out a faint whimper as he slips down the wall, and when he turns to Oliver his blue eyes go very wide.

"What'd I tell you?" Flint laughs at Percy, with a very evident cruel note to his voice. Percy flinches instantly, cheeks reddening bright enough to clash with his hair.

Then, to Oliver's utter shock, Percy looks up at him and says, somewhere between desperately and furiously, "I don't need a stupid jock to come rescue me!" Then he abruptly scoops up his bag and barrels down the hall, right past Oliver with his head down. Oliver turns to watch him go, thoroughly confused.

"'Knew you two were a bunch of queers!" Flint laughs hard. "'Asked him what he was doing skulking around the pitch yesterday – looking for his boyfriend? Looks like I was right!"

Flint turns and heads down the other end of the hall, probably to go tell all his friends.


	3. ---

"How'd you finagle it?" Oliver laughs cheerfully, dropping his bag at the floor of his desk. He sits down with a heavy thump and gets out his textbook, ready for his 'detention.' This isn't going to be like the usual ones, he can already tell. Spending an hour alone with Percy is hardly a punishment.

Percy looks like he thinks otherwise, because he says in that naturally-pompous way of his, "I didn't 'finagle' anything. I'm the Gryffindor Prefect – I often oversee detentions when Professor McGonagall is busy." After a minute he adds with a sniff, "Also, I think it's atrocious that you got a detention in Transfiguration. I practically wrote your whole essay for you – how did you manage not to get it done?"

"Quidditch," Oliver shrugs. That's his answer for most things. At Percy's furious expression he says, "I appreciate you helping me, though." And he smiles winningly.

Percy's pale skin turns a delicate shade of pink, blending in with his freckles. His lips are in a thin frown, but somehow Oliver only finds it more alluring. The more Percy tries to be in charge, the more Oliver wants to show him how it really is. The way Percy turns and struts over to McGonagall's desk makes Oliver lick his lips – Percy has a subconscious tendency to sway his hips when he walks, making Oliver's mouth water.

"I think it's prudent in this situation for you to write lines. Evidently you have trouble during writing exercises; we'll simply have to work that out." He bends over the desk to pull a quill out of the corner, grabbing parchment. Oliver's already gotten out of his desk, and he does his best to be as silent as possible while approaching Percy.

When Percy turns around he practically shrieks in surprise – Oliver's so close their noses almost brush. "You're going to make me write lines?" Oliver muses.

"You deserve it," Percy huffs.

Oliver raises an eyebrow instead and leans a bit closer, forcing Percy to stumble back into the desk, hands clutching at the edges. Oliver's voice lowers an octave as he growls, "Why don't you spank me, instead?"

Percy's blue eyes widen and he stiffens, his whole face blushing hard. Even his ears tint pink. He takes a minute to hiss, "Oliver, stop it."

"Stop what?" Oliver purrs, pressing his tenting crotch into Percy's pants. Percy gasps and looks sideways, eyes fluttering shut. "You want to punish me so bad?" He leans into Percy's ear, whispering as erotically as he can manage,_"Do it."_

"Don't be so... so _dirty_..." Percy mumbles quietly, still looking away. He seems to try and gather composure – control – and he looks back with quivering, drawn down eyebrows, "Cut it out. You've been bad and this is a punishment."

Oliver bucks into Percy harshly, making Percy arch and moan suddenly. "What about you, Mr. Perfect?" Oliver moves his hands onto Percy's sides, and Percy drops the quill and parchment to the floor in favour of lifting his hands to Oliver's chest, not quite pushing away. "You've been just as bad, you naughty thing... walking around like that and talking like a big shot. You know what it does to me when you challenge me..."

"Not... not challenging you," Percy breathes. "Oliver, it's detention; it's s-serious..." Oliver doesn't listen; he bites the shell of Percy's ear gently, trailing a row of nibbles up and down it. Percy moans sexily, clearly loving it despite his protests.

Oliver can't help but chuckle darkly, "See? You love it, you little slut... don't pretend you don't want me to fuck you right over this desk..."

Percy suddenly shoves Oliver back, and Oliver stumbles into the desk behind him. Percy's panting and stares at him with flushed cheeks. Oliver stays where he is, eyeing his prey with a feral hunger. He'd never actually force himself on Percy. But he doesn't go sit back down, either.

Percy sniffs and tries to straighten himself out. Then he says in a very unsteady voice, "You need to behave."

Oliver arches an eyebrow and breathes, "Or else...?"

Percy steps over to him, leaning in slightly, hands falling to Oliver's broad shoulders. "Or else I'm going to tell Professor McGonagall what you're really like and get your precious Quidditch time taken away. _You're_ the one being a whore."

Oliver arches the other brow. He can't tell if that's dirty talk or not – Quidditch is a dangerous thing to threaten him with. Percy dons a small, satisfied smirk, raising his chin regally. "That's better. Now sit back dow-"

Oliver lunges at Percy so fast that there's no time for defense. Percy's thrown back into the professor's desk behind him, and Oliver's arms wrap around his thin body, crushing him in. Oliver flattens his mouth over Percy's and pries Percy's lips apart, shoving his tongue and ravaging Percy's mouth. Their noses are smashed together and the angle's wrong and it's awkward, but Oliver doesn't care. He shoves his knee between Percy's legs and grinds his roommate into the mahogany, so turned on he can barely stand it. Percy's hands fly to clutch at his shoulders – not really pushing, not really pulling. When Oliver parts them he grabs a fistful of Percy's hair and jerks Percy's head back, making Percy gasp and wince. Oliver knows he likes it rough, though. The glint in his eyes says as much, forced to stare up at the ceiling

"Tell me you want me to fuck you on the professor's desk, you whore," Oliver growls. Percy tries to pull free, but Oliver tugs him roughly back into place, and Percy whines and stays still. "Don't act like you don't. Strutting around like that, trying to order me around... who's your captain, Percy?"

"I'm... a prefect..." Percy breathes, looking through his lids at Oliver. Oliver tilts to start trailing kisses along his pale, exposed neck, making Percy's breath hitch. He still struggles to say, "I-I'm not one of your Quidditch lackies..."

"No," Oliver hisses in agreement, "Just _mine_."

Percy gulps, and his voice gets a little whinier as he tries to demand through grit teeth, "Write your lines."

Oliver presses his knee forward. "Suck my cock."

Percy's eyes roll up in his skull as Oliver rubs their crotches together, Percy's now just as full as Oliver's. Oliver can feel the thick bulge through the layers of cloth and desperately wants that fabric gone. He makes his way back to Percy's mouth, and he lets go of Percy's head so he can press their lips together again. Percy meets him fervently, fingers fisted in Oliver's jumper. His tongue hungrily fights Oliver's back, and Oliver's nose hits Percy's glasses when he leans in too much. He runs his fingers along the back of Percy's neck, down his thin shoulders, along the dip of his spine, and around his small waist. Percy mewls into the treatment and only pulls back to whisper, sounding needy and ferocious, "Fuck me on her desk."


	4. ----

Percy's just pushed the desk chair in when Oliver struts muddily into the room, trailing a puddle behind him. He tosses his dirty Quidditch gear around the foot of his bed and collapses onto it, back down to his pants and shirt. He grins happily over at Percy and chirps, "We won!"

"So I've heard," Percy sniffs, glaring daggers.

Oliver's eyebrows knit together, which is a great achievement – usually he doesn't notice at all and cheerfully goes about his business: running downstairs to party or passing right out. "You okay?"

Percy's already walked over to Oliver's bed, hovering over the pile of discarded laundry. On the one hand, if he washes Oliver's clothes, the room he spent an hour cleaning will actually be clean again. On the other hand, if he does that, Oliver will never learn. Tilting his head and staring at them, Percy sniffs, "I just cleaned."

"Oh," Oliver says, without a hint of apology or shame anywhere in his voice. "Don't worry about – I don't mind."

"_I_ mind!" Percy shouts incredulously, scowling up at Oliver. "There's only two of us in here – it shouldn't be this hard to keep the room clean!"

When Oliver stands off the bed Percy only takes one step back, trying to hold his glare up challengingly. It's hard to challenge Oliver when the Keeper's considerably bigger and more muscled, but Percy does his best. Oliver looks halfway between affronted and sorry, this time, and he mumbles, "Calm down, Perce. It's just a bit of laundry. I'll do it later."

"No you won't!" Percy practically whines. "You always say that and you never do it! And then _I_ end up doing it, just because I'm tired of living in filth!"

"Well, I didn't ask you to do that!" Oliver says, now with a hint of annoyance.

Percy sucks in a bit of breath, puffing up. "You can order a team all over the pitch but you can't even keep your own room clean!" Then he does something in the spur of the moment that he doesn't at all mean to, and that he's never done before. He actually shoves Oliver lightly in the chest, making Oliver stumble back into the bed.

Oliver stares at him incredulously, before lunging forward and shoving Percy pack – Percy's topples over onto the carpet. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not good enough for Perfect Prefect Percy!" he huffs, standing over Percy, still looking halfway sorry.

Percy doesn't want Oliver to feel sorry for him. He scrambles back to his feet and shoves Oliver again, this time with all his strength, and Oliver grabs him and wrestles with him, flipping him around and tangling their legs. The next thing Percy knows he's being thrown onto the bed, and he bounces off it ready to strike.

Oliver pins him down again by smashing their mouths together, forcing Percy's head sharply down into the mattress. Percy squeals into the kiss, and as soon as his lips part Oliver shoves his tongue into Percy's mouth, hungrily exploring it and tracing everything. Oliver's heavy body is over his, pinning him down and flattening the air out of his lungs – he can feel Oliver's six pack through their shirts. Percy lifts his hands to Oliver's shoulders as if to push him off, but he hesitates too long. Oliver grabs his wrists and pins them to the mattress, continuing the heated, wet kiss. It's the first time Percy's been kissed with tongue, and it's strange and sloppy and exciting. A whole wealth of emotions runs through his trapped body, bubbling under his veins. He thinks he's blushing, and his blood's on fire.

When Oliver finally pulls off Percy's mouth stays open – he's too shocked to close it. His glasses have been knocked slightly askew. Oliver opens his mouth like he's going to say something. Nothing comes out.

His eyes are fire and he dives in for another heavy kiss, just as desperate and violent as the first. This time Percy tries to kiss back – his brain's been sucked out of his head and he's going on instinct. Oliver's tented crotch starts to grind into him, and Percy moans fervently and tries to buck back. Oliver groans appreciatively and sucks on Percy's tongue. Percy starts struggling again.

He manages to jerk his wrists out of Oliver's grasp and lifts his hands to fist in Oliver's chestnut hair, pulling him down. Percy's completely lost it, and when he does regain any semblance of coherent thought, all he can think is, 'why didn't we do this before?'


End file.
